


Laws of Attraction

by pikachumaniac



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikachumaniac/pseuds/pikachumaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which James Bond and Q attempt to survive each other and whatever life has to throw at them. More of the former than the latter, naturally.</p><p>A collection of ficlets from my Tumblr.</p><p>Latest Ficlet: There was a time when MI6's Quartermaster being kidnapped would be a cause for concern. But that was before Q was kidnapped for the eighty-third time that year.</p><p>In which Q is taken and James is concerned, but not as much as he should be (and not necessarily for the right reasons).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family Counseling

**Author's Note:**

> As the number of ficlets on my Tumblr has started to increase, I thought I would finally start posting them here. The updating might be a bit irregular (read, slow) as I attempt to edit and flesh out the writing a bit.
> 
> Generally, I will try to only post multi-part ficlets once they are complete, but if there do end up being additional parts, the chapter titles should indicate where there are additions to multi-part stories. Applicable warnings will be posted in the chapter summary.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt by ohvitamea – “Could you please do one where Mansfield M and Bond are pretending to be married with Q as their son? Guess they'd be undercover but other than that anything goes ^^”

“No.”

“You’re being childish, Q,” Bond drawled. Oh sweet irony.

“I know reading isn’t your strong suit, but you did read the mission details, did you not?” Q asked, throwing the papers at Bond. “Including the part where I am pretending to be _your_ child?”

Apparently Bond had not got that far (why bother when he deviated from the mission brief about ninety-seven percent of the time?), given how his eyes widened in what was certainly not manly panic. Q in turn, certainly did not pick up on 007’s horror as he continued thoughtfully, “But perhaps I shouldn’t complain about you accepting your antiquated status, especially if it means you might start acting your age. Still, you do give a whole new meaning to the term ‘ _cradle robbing_ ,’ don’t you?”

“ _Q_ ,” Bond hissed as he cast a meaningful look at the third member of their little party, but M just sipped her brandy quietly. Most people might have considered eight in the morning too early to start drinking, but as far as M was concerned, it was _never_ too early to start drinking when it came to national security. In fact, it was her experience that alcohol was _necessary_ to the continued protection of Queen and country, especially considering how the business seemed to attract the most psychologically damaged of individuals, two of which were sitting in her office.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she said lightly, pouring herself some more alcohol. She had a suspicion she would be needing it. “I’m sure there is absolutely nothing unprofessional about having a lover’s quarrel in front of your superior.”

Q made a lovely strangled sound that might have been a denial or just death coming to take him, while Bond demonstrated his utmost professionalism by limiting his reaction to turning a lovely shade of pink. The two of them truly made a wonderfully matched set, M thought to herself, as she waited for the quartermaster and 007 to regain some sense of composure.

It was a depressingly long wait, but Q eventually managed to clear his throat and say, “Ma’am, I do not think that this undercover mission is wise… it’s… considering the risks involved and the required resources and… it’s… is it entirely necessary?”

“Do you think I would be involved if it was not?” she replied, the question mild but more than enough to make Q shrink back in sheer terror. The quartermaster had always displayed excellent survival instincts, which was one of the reasons he had been assigned to this mission in the first place. She had no use for a computer specialist who would lose his mind at the first sign of blood, and when 007 was involved, a great deal of blood was guaranteed.

“No, ma’am,” Q said quietly, when it became clear that a response was expected if he wanted to continue being employed. Or continue breathing.

“Good,” she said, before turning back to Bond, who had recovered enough to look smug. She disabused him of that sentiment very quickly. “As for you, I expect to be treated with the respect due for a person of my position. We may be having our problems as a family, but you will not be taking advantage of that cover identity and you _will_ treat me with dignity, _do you understand_?”

It was less a question and more a threat, and Bond wouldn’t have survived to his age if he wasn’t able to recognize that. “Understood, M.”

“Excellent. I am so glad we could come to an understanding.” M took another sip of her brandy before giving Bond and Q a pointed look. “Is there some reason why the two of you are still here?”

Bond might have been the double-o agent of the group, but Q’s pointy elbows were quite an asset in their race to be the first one out of the office.

* * *

No one knew who had come up with the truly _brilliant_ idea of sending MI6’s head, quartermaster, and most notorious agent into a highly fraught and dangerous situation, but it was likely that person had either already absconded to a desert island or was hanging upside down in a dark cellar, bleeding slowly. The mission combined the things that were most feared by the intelligence community: traitors, double agents, hidden dangers, and painfully high stakes for their own people. On top of that, it combined the things that were most feared by top MI6 employees in particular: psychiatrists, family issues, and _feelings_.

The mission involved the infiltration of a psychiatric facility that specialized in treating the unique problems faced by military and intelligence personnel. Confidential information had been leaking out of it at a truly porous rate, but now that several formal patients – many of whom were involved in deep cover investigations – had turned up dead ( _“Now that’s one way to treat a mental patient,”_ James had smiled darkly), MI6 was being forced to intervene.

Of course, whether or not _this_ level of intervention was warranted was… debatable. Hell, it was such a terrible idea that all three participants strongly suspected that a practical joke was being played on them, even if on paper their inclusion made sense.

Q’s involvement was premised on both his technological expertise, and the fact that despite his high rank, his face was relatively unknown (a necessity for surviving in this line of work). He also had the advantage (or disadvantage, at this point) of looking like a tween, something Bond had pointed out rather unkindly. That was why there were now long scratches down the agent’s face where the quartermaster had viciously clawed him.

Bond, in turn, provided both protection and his infiltration skills. As one of the most experienced agents, he was in the best position to make sure they got to where they needed in order for Q to break into their systems, while keeping everyone alive.

And as for M… well, she was the only one remotely capable of controlling her two assets because it seemed like every time Q and Bond were in the same room together, they regressed to acting like three-year olds, pigtail pulling included.

Quite unfortunately, the mission did indeed require quite a bit of “being in the same room.” M and Bond were to pose as an unhappy couple, with Q as their equally unhappy child, engaging in an especially extensive form of family therapy in an (ultimately futile) attempt to be less unhappy. Oddly enough, these cover identities did not stray too far from reality because the three principle players were all excruciatingly unhappy about the situation, a sentiment they conveyed in their own unique ways.

M, as the only mature adult of the trio, handled the situation with her usual composure. She suppressed her irritation by reminding herself that orphans were the best recruits. This not only meant that orphans didn’t have families to worry about, making it easier to give up everything in the name of national security, but it also meant M could have them taken out without having to worry about weeping, overemotional family members. The prospect of using that advantage kept her going, even if meant that she sat through their “therapy” sessions with a forced smile that was starting to resemble a corpse in rigor mortis.

Bond, consummate professional that he was, threw himself into his cover identity with such gusto that one would almost think he was rather enjoying himself as he showed all of the staff exactly what the problem with their “family” was: himself. He drank heavily, swore a lot, broke into the medical cabinets, turned the word association games into blatant sexual innuendos, handed out the stolen medicine to the other patients like they were candy, gamely attempted (and succeeded) to seduce all of the staff _except_ the doctors, and was in general, an all-around terror. If M didn’t need him to kill in the name of Queen and country, and if she didn’t want to murder him herself, she would have let them commit him.

Q, on the other hand, was an absolute saint – as long as he was nowhere in Bond’s vicinity. Then he seemed determined to convince everyone that if he wasn’t already engaging in an incestuous relationship with his “father,” he was well on his way to developing a serious daddy kink. There had always been an underlying sexual tension between the quartermaster and 007, which was why the betting pool for when they would be found snogging in M’s office involved every single MI6 employee (except Tanner, who had long ago been banned from such pools because he _always_ won). For people who were not familiar with that tension, Q’s attempts to challenge 007 via verbal sparring had long ago crossed the line from teenage rebellion to one-step-away-from-a-lap-dance flirtation. One of the doctors had even pulled M aside to have a quick “chat” with her about calling the authorities, and she had been forced to have him quietly confined to his home until the mission was completed, lest the police get involved.

Needless to say, the mission was going very badly. Oh, during the day they were doing a bang up job of convincing everyone that they belonged in therapy (and possibly their very own psychiatric ward), traumatizing each doctor and being assigned to the next most senior doctor in the hope that they would eventually find the one who was leaking information. But at night, when they were supposed to be returning to their usual, professional selves, Bond and Q continued to bicker like schoolchildren while M counted down the days until she could have them shot for treason. There was a reason why none of them looked very well-rested when morning finally came, leading to whispered rumors about _threesomes_ amongst the staff.

Things came to a head when they had their session with Dr. Riley. Bond had pinpointed Riley as a likely suspect for the leak, but they hadn’t been able to schedule a session with him because he only dealt with the most problematic cases. Thanks to Bond’s and Q’s antics, they were able to get an appointment with him in record time.

The session was going as it usually did, with Bond being rude and Q being passive-aggressively derisive and M looking calm and serene, if vaguely homicidal. But then it took a rather different turn when Q said abruptly, “Well, maybe if you loved me more, we wouldn’t be having these problems.”

Bond stopped mid-rant (the agent had experienced a rather trying night, due to being locked in the bathroom for seven hours. Q swore it wasn’t his doing and had absolutely nothing to do with Bond losing the universal lock pick he had made, but nobody seemed to believe him, least of all Q) to stare. Dr. Riley himself paused before he started to furiously scribble notes, and M mouthed something along the lines of ‘Oh dear lord, strike me dead now,’ a plea that was blatantly ignored.

The agent recovered quickly though, as was his style, growling, “Perhaps if you were more competent, _Peter_ , I would love you more.”

Q stared back at him with wide, innocent eyes, the kind that made most people want to hug him close in a protective embrace but appeared to make Bond’s fingers very, very twitchy. “You blame me for everything, _father_ , when you’re the one who seems to take immense pleasure out of destroying everything that is handed to you. That’s not right, is it?”

The last question was directed at Dr. Riley, who just said “err” before Bond cut him off.

“Oh, this is about me now? I thought we were discussing your many dysfunctions.”

“They’re one and the same, last I checked. I give you everything I can, spend hours trying to keep your useless arse alive, and how do you repay me? With insults and accusations. I don’t really know how to handle it anymore.”

Bond growled. “Fuck, you didn’t use to be this needy.”

“I bet you would love me more if I was a woman.”

Dr. Riley’s pen practically flew out of his hands, and M just closed her eyes and began to imagine throwing people out of aeroplanes. Or two people, specifically, tied together and possibly with a rabid badger to make their last moments very, very unpleasant indeed. Bond, in turn, just said in an appropriately scandalized tone, “What did you say?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you having problems with your hearing in your old age?” Q replied tartly. “Well, let me make myself clear then. It is my opinion that you might actually deign to treat me with a fraction of the respect I deserve if I had _breasts_.”

“Alice?” Dr. Riley said with some desperation as Bond and Q descended to caveman levels of intelligence. “Do you have anything to say about Peter’s… ah, concerns?”

“Not in particular,” M said with a tight smile, before casually picking up the heavy lamp and swinging it into his head. The good doctor crumpled to the floor without protest, although neither Bond nor Q deigned to notice as they continued flailing and bickering in an unprofessional manner. They were seconds away from either strangling each other or making sweet, sweet love, but M didn’t care one whit as she calmly walked over to the computer and brute forced her way into the system using one of Q’s devices. It didn’t take long for the information to download or for her to confirm her suspicions about Dr. Riley, and so she calmly took Bond’s gun (the agent barely paused in his squabbling) and shot the doctor in the head, one bullet for each one of his victims. Then she removed the device, pulled the alarm, and turned to face the agent and quartermaster, who had finally been brought back to their senses by the gunshots and were now staring at her in fear and trepidation.

“If you are quite finished, I believe it is apparent that I have gone ahead and done your jobs for you,” she said, and if she was as unprofessional as they were, she might have taken pleasure from the simultaneous guilty looks she received. “Now let us get going before the authorities get here, or I will leave you behind.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Yes, mum.”

“Oh, so now you choose to remember your cover identities,” she muttered as they quickly made their way out of the building.


	2. A Storm of Sharks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A freak weather storm drops hungry sharks on London. James Bond is Not Amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring Sharknado!sharks, selkie!Q, and irate!007. For Isanah.

James Bond is having a bad day.

In general, a “normal day” for James involves a lot of things that most people would already consider a bit not good – namely being shot at, explosions, torture, stabbings, laser beams ( _twice_ ), and other various activities that result in his best suits getting torn to ribbons. So what distinguished this day is the fact that during his most recent foot chase, a shark landed on his target.

And then promptly ate the man.

Even to James, this is not normal.

He fumbles for his earpiece, keeping a safe distance from the shark as he quickly backs away. The shark does not seem to mind, due to being a bit busy feasting on his target, and so he sneaks a glance around to see that London appears to be having a rather worse than normal weather day, on account that along with the rain, the clouds are dropping great white sharks all over the city.

Definitely not normal.

“Q,” he hisses as he trains his gun on the shark. “What the bloody hell is happening? There are _sharks_ attacking London.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Q replies from MI6 headquarters, calm as you please. James usually loved that about him, how the selkie doesn’t seem phased by anything. No matter the situation, he is unflappable, wryly guiding James through situations that would send most normal people to tears.

Still, considering how right now there sharks are hailing onto his city, the calm is a little annoying.

“Do you happen to know why?” he asks politely.

“Well, you humans have been doing a number on the ecosystem lately.”

Politeness be damned. “Thank you for that, Q. Is it possible you can be serious for a moment?”

“I am being serious,” the selkie huffs, before launching into a familiar litany of complaints that James had long ago learned to tune out. “Humans are the single most destructive force this planet has ever seen, and here you are complaining about some poor sharks. In any case, I have no idea.” James can hear the click-clack of the keyboard, although he doesn’t know what the selkie will manage to find. He is pretty sure this hasn’t happened before, so he doubts the emergency protocols will provide any advice for how to deal with London being flooded by sharks. “Still, it could be worse.”

James practically chokes at that, and the sound seems to attract the shark’s attention. It looks like it is done eating his target, but is not done eating _generally_. “It could be… exactly _how_ can this be worse?!”

“They could have been otters,” Q replies, completely serious. “Otters are very nasty little creatures, James.”

“Are you sure it’s not jealousy speaking?” he can’t help but ask, even though he should probably be focusing on the fact that the shark is getting really interested in the other edible creature sharing the rooftop with it.

Q’s voice drops to subzero temperatures. “What would I have to be jealous about, James?”

“Nothing,” he assures his partner, before shooting at the shark.

“Don’t hurt them!” Q exclaims, finally showing some emotion. Unfortunately, as that emotion is being directed towards the creatures who obviously wants to _eat_ James, he does not approve _in the slightest_. “They’re just scared and confused.”

“And _hungry_.” The shark doesn’t look particularly phased by the gunshots, although it does look rather irritable. This is not a good sign at all.

“Yes, that too,” the selkie admits, although he still cannot be bothered to show the appropriate amount of alarm at the fact that his partner is about to get _eaten by a shark in the middle of London_. “But still, it’s not like they asked to be here.”

“Do I look like I give a damn?” he grits out, emptying another clip into the shark as he continues to back towards the stairwell. “Please tell me you know what to do about this.”

“How would I know? If a selkie comes across a hungry great white, trust me when I say he or she does not live to talk about it.”

How absolutely reassuring. “So what are you saying, Q? We should let them just eat us?” He has reached the entrance to the stairs. Which, because this is starting to shape up to be a Very Bad Day, is electronically locked.

“I didn’t say that,” Q replies tartly. “I’m just saying there has to be a way to get them back home without hurting them.”

“Before or after everyone gets eaten?”

There is a loud crash of glass from MI6’s side of the conversation, and Q sighs. “I suppose you have a point, James. Now you’ll have to excuse me, a giant shark just crashed through my window. Since I’ve already unlocked that stairwell door for you, it would be lovely if you could make your way to headquarters before I get eaten as well.”

“Understood,” he says, and just manages to slip in through the now open door and slam it shut before the shark launches itself at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In no way does this story reflect my view towards sharks. They are amazing creatures.
> 
> Otters, on the other hand, are complete shits.


	3. Slow Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James Bond teaches his quartermaster the pleasures of dancing.

James waited until the dance floor had finally emptied out (three in the morning, not unexpected for a MI6 wedding, where 97.4% of the invitees was used to staying up for ninety-six hours straight to deal with international crises) before walking up to Q. The quartermaster was half-asleep, having so recently dealt with one of said ninety-six hour long crises, but immediately straightened at James’s approach before looking momentarily bewildered by the emptiness of the dance hall. “Oh. It’s over?”

“Yes,” James said. “But don’t worry, I’m sure Eve didn’t notice that you fell asleep during her wedding.”

“I didn’t fall asleep,” Q protested before immediately being betrayed by a yawn. He didn’t even have the energy to look irritated about that. “Okay, maybe a little, but it’s been a very long week and I lasted through the ceremony. Is it time to go back now?”

“Not quite yet,” James replied, and at Q’s questioning sound, he indicated the DJ, who gave them a thumbs up. “I paid him to stay for one more song.”

“I hope he didn’t let you choose the song because I’m not sure he would have it in his repertoire. Or had ever heard of it,” Q teased, and James tweaked his nose in retaliation, causing him to yelp in outrage.

“I’m not _that_ old,” James said unnecessarily, somehow without sulking.

Q was not finished, however. “Please, I’m surprised Eve didn’t ask you to do the father-daughter dance with her.”

That earned the quartermaster another tweak, and the agent in turn got a half-hearted swat. “You’re awfully cheeky for someone who was asleep a few minutes ago. I don’t even know how you managed it with the music so loud.”

“If I can sleep through explosions and fire alarms, I can sleep through some music.”

James raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that is a talent as much as an occupational hazard.”

“Not all explosions are created equal. I only wake up for the big ones,” Q replied, only to be interrupted by another yawn. “Must we do this, James? I’m going to be dead on my feet.”

“I waited all night for a dance with you.” He’d had to wait because the dance music had always been hard and fast throughout the entire night, and James knew how much Q hated that type of dancing. The quartermaster thought it looked silly, which James very much doubted would be the case when it came to Q’s dancing. But then, Q wasn’t that much of a fan of dancing in general, not seeing the point of it, and tonight James was determined to show him the error in that line of thinking

“Fine,” Q moaned, struggling to his feet. He nearly toppled over but as always, James was there to catch him before he could fall flat on his face.

James led Q out to the dance floor as the first strains of music started. Unlike the music throughout the night, the melody was soft and gentle, as were their motions. It wasn’t long before Q was resting his head against one broad shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as he sank into the movement. But despite the softness of the music, he didn’t fall asleep, not even close. They weren’t doing anything except swaying to the music (a song he did _not_ recognize, and he would be teasing James about that eventually, but not right now, certainly not right now), but in that moment, the only thing that mattered was the arms around him, holding him close.

At times like that, it seemed like there was nothing else in the world but the two of them.

But of course they knew that such moments couldn’t last, and as the music came to its inevitable end, Q looked up to whisper, “I’ll murder you if you try to twirl me.”

James laughed, leaning down to give Q a kiss. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”


	4. Civic Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Q reminds Bond that civic duty doesn’t extend only to blowing things up in the name of Queen and country.

“I need your help.”

“No,” Q replied, without even bothering to look away from his computer screen.

“Come on, Q,” James said with as much charm as he could muster (which was a lot, he must say), but this only made Q arch an eyebrow and go back to sipping tea. If it wasn’t for the fact that James had caught the quartermaster staring at his arse every time he walked by, he might have felt a little self-conscious about the lack of swooning. “It’s just a small favor.”

“I don’t do favors.”

“What about the time you caused a system-wide delay of the tube during rush hour just so Eve could get out of her meeting with the psych department?”

Q didn’t so much as blink. “That is what we classify as self-preservation, 007. Everyone knows that Moneypenny is terribly good at blackmail, so I try to give her reasons not to turn her considerable skills against me.”

That distracted him for just a moment. “And what blackmail does she have you, exactly?”

Q sighed, obviously not wanting to get drawn into _that_ conversation although James had a pretty good idea what said blackmail might be. “On second thought, just tell me what you want, and maybe I’ll consider it if you promise to go away after you tell me.”

That was good enough for him. He took in a deep breath, and then said as quickly as he possibly could, “I need you to get me out of jury service.”

“Jury service?” Q repeated, finally turning to stare at him. This lasted for only a split-second before Q burst into merry peals of laughter, something James might have appreciated if it wasn’t for the fact that Q was laughing at _him_. “You got summoned for _jury service_? How did _you_ get summoned for jury service?”

James waited patiently for Q to stop laughing, or at least he would have if the laughter hadn’t continued past the five-minute mark, forcing him to interrupt, “Well, apparently I have, and I can’t bloody well tell them that I have to defer because I’m constantly on call to go after terrorists all over the world, now can I? So all I need is for you to get into the system and take me off the-”

“You know,” Q mused, obviously not listening to him at all. “I’m surprised you’re even eligible for jury service, seeing how you can’t be on a jury if you’ve been in prison in the last ten years. And considering those stints you served in America, Canada, Russia, Spain, Indonesia, and Malaysia for a start….”

“Now don’t you go start lecturing me about those too,” he warned because his hearing (and his pride) still hadn’t recovered from the last tirade M had hit him with, and he didn’t need Q piling on either.

“… but oh wait, wait a second,” Q continued, and something about his tone made James suspect that blood would be shed soon. “I… deleted all those records? Hmm, why would I do a thing like that?”

Silence. Then finally, James said as calmly as he could. “Q.”

“Yes, 007?”

“Do you have something to do with my getting summoned for jury service?”

Q’s response was as predictable as it was _completely unbelievable_. “Why ever would I do a thing like that?”

“ _Liar_ ,” James roared, causing all of Q-branch to drop what they were doing and scurry a safe distance away. Everyone except Q, at least, who had returned his attention to the computer screen. “You signed me up for _jury service_?!”

“Well, if I did a thing like that, and just remember that is a major, significant, _clearly_ hypothetical ‘if,’” Q said, completely placid in the face of murderous intent being directed straight at him, “it would only be because I recall a certain someone nattering on about doing one’s civic duty a while back.”

“That had to do with _picking up after your dog_ , not wasting my time serving on a jury!” James yelled right back.

“Serving as a juror is a vital part of the legal system, and is one of the most _important_ civic duties that anyone can be asked to perform thanks to the experiences and knowledge each person summoned to serve will bring to the jury,” Q parroted, his eyes wide and innocent even though they both knew James was in no way falling for that shit. “Plus, I’m sure _your_ experiences will come in especially handy, since how often is it that a jury gets to have someone with so much intimate knowledge about murdering people?”

“I’m sure _your_ experiences hacking people’s records will come in handy right about now, before you get some intimate knowledge about murder as well,” James said lowly, the threat clear but clearly ignored as Q just chuckled.

“Oh yes, but that’s why I removed myself from the jury pool _years_ ago.”

James growled, which only contributed to Q’s rage-inducing amusement. “You little bastard.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of already filling out and submitting your jury summons, as well as clearing your calendar for the scheduled days. So please do enjoy serving your community, 007,” Q informed him with a beatific smile, before ducking the stapler that was thrown at his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three guesses who recently got summoned for jury duty.... :3


	5. An Ordinary Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a time when MI6's Quartermaster being kidnapped would be a cause for concern. But that was before Q was kidnapped for the eighty-third time that year.
> 
> In which Q is taken and James is concerned, but not as much as he should be (and not necessarily for the right reasons).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Fishwrites, who indulges in my ridiculous love for getting Q kidnapped in pretty much every story I write.

On Friday morning, James got a call that was starting to become very, _very_ familiar.

“The Quartermaster has been taken,” Tanner informed him. But unlike the first fourteen times they’d had this conversation, Tanner no longer sounded grim so much as mildly irate. And unlike the first twenty-three times these words had been spoken to him, James no longer felt that stab of harrowing fear so much as something that was rather like… exasperation.

He knew this wasn’t the most appropriate response to one of MI6’s top executives – who just so happened to be his partner – being kidnapped by hostiles, but this was just getting ridiculous. “How many times does it make it this month?”

“Two,” the Chief of Staff sighed. Which didn’t sound so bad, until one realized that it was only November 6. “Bond, I thought you were supposed to keep an eye on him. That was the only reason why M didn’t have you taken out back and shot when he found you snogging Q in his office.”

“I’m not his keeper,” James retorted, keeping to himself the thought that he had seriously considered putting a collar around Q’s neck. A collar with a _bell_ , specifically. Considering how his partner kept getting kidnapped only a few steps away from MI6, it wasn’t nearly as terrible an idea as Q had made it seem when he had suggested it.

At least with a bell, someone might hear Q’s plight before the kidnappers put a sack over his head.

“Well, have they at least contacted you with any demands?” Tanner asked. After all, there were generally two reasons to kidnap Q – to get information about MI6 or to get revenge on James. Sometimes both, if the kidnappers were feeling particularly ambitious. “Or video of them threatening to cut off bits of him if you don’t immediately head to a trap of their choosing?”

“You’re not taking this very seriously, are you?”

“We are,” Tanner replied. “But I was supposed to go on holiday today, and now Helen is glaring at me very angrily.”

“Why don’t you just lock him in his office already?” Helen asked on cue.

“We tried that already,” James and Tanner answered simultaneously. It had not changed anything. They had even put the entire building on lockdown because of an active threat, and the _one damn time_ he had left Q in his lab to use the facilities, he’d found himself listening to shrieking alarms before he had finished his business. He hadn’t even bothered to zip up his trousers before he raced out of there, only to find all of Q-branch unconscious on the floor, minus one errant Quartermaster.

Eve still wouldn’t let him live that one down. She liked to play the security tape at holiday parties, which James resented bitterly because despite Q’s blithe protestations of how impossible it would be, he knew that Q could have erased the video without changing out of his pajamas (well, not that he always _wore_ pajamas…).

With that in mind, James was seriously starting to consider the benefits of letting the kidnappers keep Q a little longer this time around.

As if to test his resolve, it was at that exact moment that a call came in on the other line. James glanced down at his phone, his eyes narrowing as he realized what… or rather, _whose_ number he was being called from. It wouldn’t be the first time the kidnappers had used Q’s ear piece, thinking it would be a clever way of calling – and threatening – James.

“It’s them,” he said shortly. He didn’t wait for Tanner’s response, simply hanging up and switching to the other line. Before the bastards could say anything, he growled, “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want. But I know that _you_ know that I have a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you don’t let him go now, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill-”

“James?” a very familiar voice asked, and he nearly dropped the phone in shock. “James Bond, are you quoting _Taken_ at me?”

“… Q?” he asked, in utter disbelief.

If Q heard his surprise, he didn’t let it stop him from stressing, “You were quoting _Taken_.”

“No, I wasn’t,” he immediately protested.

“You were,” Q insisted. “Do you do this every time? Oh _shit_ , is this why my kidnappers are always sniggering after they call you with whatever ridiculous ransom demands they have?”

“I was not quoting _Taken_!” James may or may not have screamed.

“… right,” was the skeptical response. And because Q was a stubborn arse who didn’t like to let things go, his Quartermaster just continued, “Because you do realize how odd that would be, correct? I mean, that would make you my father and I don’t think we’ve established that as a kink that either of us appreciate-”

“Q, what happened?” he interrupted, not at all desperate to change the subject. “Are you hurt?”  
“I’m fine, other than the kidnapping bit. They tied my wrists too tightly,” Q added, almost as an afterthought.

“But they didn’t take your earpiece?” Before James could fully consider the effect of his next words on the likelihood of his next piece of equipment mysteriously malfunctioning (and not to mention his sex life), he found himself asking, “Are you really being kidnapped by incompetent people now?”

“They did tie my wrists quite tightly,” Q said after a long silence, as if he needed to stand up for the integrity of his kidnappers. Or himself, to justify his current predicament.

They were going to have a very long chat about this, but that would have to come later. “Can you at least tell me where you are?”

“I was unconscious when they brought me here,” Q replied, a touch defensively. “I’ve told you before, I’m not an agent and I can’t memorize car routes in my sleep—hold on a second.”

James tensed, expecting at any second to hear the sound of a door opening, followed by threats and some recreational torture. It was frustrating, to say the least, that he could actually be in contact with Q during this latest kidnapping and still not have the information necessary to rescue him. It was not exactly often that Q could talk to him so readily, as usually the kidnappers were smart enough to take away his earpiece or gag him (which granted, wasn’t necessarily a sign of intelligence so much as annoyance with Q’s ability to irritate people until they would stick a rag in his mouth just to shut him up). But now Q was free to talk, and there was still no information to give.

He jerked when Q let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, this is grand.”

“What’s happening?” he demanded. He hadn’t heard anyone coming in, but clearly whoever did had warranted a peculiar reaction from his partner. “Who’s there?”

“I am,” Q said, with a slight giggle that made him sound positively deranged. Well, more so than usual. “Oh, this is just… _honestly_.”

“Q,” he snarled, the panic quickly giving way to an irritation that made _him_ want to stick a rag in his Quartermaster’s mouth.

It took a moment, but finally Q was able to calm down long enough to say, “Remember when I was kidnapped three months ago?”

James paused. “Which one?” Q had been kidnapped no less than nine times that month. Well, nine and a half, if one included the attempt that Eve had thwarted. (James did, Q didn’t, and the disagreement was throwing off the office betting pool quite terribly.)

“The drug cartel,” Q said impatiently, as if it was James’s fault for not knowing which specific kidnapping he was referring to when Q was the one who was incapable of walking down a street without getting shoved headfirst into the boot of a car. Sometimes Q didn’t even need to be walking, as demonstrated by the time he was kidnapped from MI6 itself, and the no less than five incidents when he was taken from his flat (including one memorable incident where he and Q were in the shower when the kidnappers had burst in… well, the _would-be_ kidnappers, anyway).

“Yes,” James said slowly, not sure where this was going. “But I killed them all.”

“You did. Quite marvelously too,” Q complimented. A normal person would probably have been concerned about that admiring tone, rather than feeling a little curl of satisfaction (and _lust_ ) at the words. But then, neither of them had ever admitted to being normal. “It’s the same place.”

He blinked. “What?”

“It’s the same warehouse. There’s even the same blood smears. They couldn’t even clean it beforehand?” Q sounded quite indignant at the sheer lack of hospitality being shown by his kidnappers, more so than the _being taken hostage_ part.

Meanwhile, James was still trying to process this truly ludicrous new piece of information. “Are you seriously telling me that you’ve been kidnapped so many times that your kidnappers are running out of new locations to stash you?!”

“… I wouldn’t put it that way,” was the very feeble protest.

“Try not to be kidnapped again before I get there,” James snapped as he picked up his Walther and headed for the door, debating very seriously if he should stop by the store first to pick up a collar with a bell on it.

**Author's Note:**

> My ficlets, deleted scenes, request policy, and babbling about writing (or lack thereof) can be found at http://pikachumaniac.tumblr.com/. :) Thanks for reading!


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